


Thread softly

by GreyPigeon



Series: Vast and Alternative Universes of Slutsuke [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Bondage, Bottom Kitagawa Yusuke, Child Abuse, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Impact Play, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Manhandling, Minor Character Death, Nipple Clamps, On the Run, Physical Abuse, Rough Sex, Top Akechi Goro, Touch-Starved, it's Madarame, threat of prison (just mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 11:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30105045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyPigeon/pseuds/GreyPigeon
Summary: On a cold, foggy evening, dimly lit by gas lamps, a lawyer pays a visit to the tailor's workshop.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kitagawa Yusuke
Series: Vast and Alternative Universes of Slutsuke [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2218107
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12
Collections: Slutsuke week!





	Thread softly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Armae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Armae/gifts).



> I’ve written this fic for [Armae's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Armae/pseuds/Armae) birthday this year, exactly according to her prompts of choice!^^ Once again, HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY FRIEND!!! She had received the gift on time, (yaaay XD) but we had both agreed that this can be published during Slutsuke Week because it’s quite fitting :)) 
> 
> PROMPTS were: Victorian AU, tailor Yusuke, acerbic (but not abusive) Goro; measuring tape bondage + a sewing prop of my choice, touch starved.
> 
> Day 2 of Slutsuke Week, /Bondage/. + VICTORIAN AU.

**~*~**

The tinkling sound of the doorbell made Yusuke look up from the velvet frock he was embellishing. The gust of damp evening wind rushed into the room and blew some of his candles off. Startled, Yusuke bumped on the table with his elbow and a spool of golden thread fell down, quickly escaping across the floor, only to stop at the toe of a shiny, black leather shoe. The visitor standing in the doorway smirked. 

“I find myself in need of a tailored suit,” the man spoke. He closed the door behind him promptly. 

He turned the key in the lock, too. 

The young tailor sighed, not without a smirk of his own; he put his sewing away and got up to gather all the necessary tools, while the customer stepped over the spool of golden floss and started to undress. He took the cloak off and put his squire top hat away. He made himself quite at home, hanging his clothes in the proper places and discarding his gloves on the small table next to the entrance; he knew his way around the workshop well, having been a patron for a long time. 

Yusuke’s eyes shone as he beheld the beautiful frame of his customer, a renowned attorney at law, Akechi Goro. The effortless, almost disdainful way in which he held himself, as if he was born in a perfectly fitted morning coat, even though it couldn’t have been further from the truth. He came from the gutter, half-orphan like Yusuke himself. Yet he clawed his way up relentlessly, working hard seven days a week every week, learning foreign languages when he should have slept, cautiously weighing every step of his career. He had judged his limited options with every breath he drew, only to emerge victorious in this eat-or-be-eaten world. Yusuke looked into his burning, auburn eyes and felt some of that tenacity spill onto him in the chilly air of his sewing workshop.

Goro stretched comfortably in the middle of the small space meant for the customers. The soft glow from the fireplace cast a beautiful glow on his features. He took his dress shirt off, and Yusuke took it from him gingerly to hang it; Goro cocked his head as he approached him, as if catching a whiff of his scent. The tailor shuddered against his will.

Putting a fresh parchment on the table, a measuring tape in hand, Yusuke willed himself to focus. He’d worked for Akechi before, in fact, had made several suits for him, and he knew the measurements by heart. Even so, he insisted on taking them every single time. If Akechi lost weight or fell ill, the tailor would know just by the difference in numbers. Yusuke pulled the tape taut, from one shoulder to the other. The first featherlight touch was tingling, worrying the flesh hidden in the scarce fabric of the undershirt. 

Working silently, Yusuke recalled how they had first met all those years ago.

...He had been an orphaned son of the poor housekeeper; Yusuke’s mother considered herself lucky to find a place at the house of a Master Craftsman Madarame Ichiryusai. Master Tailor had been proudly running the best tailoring atelier in the county and had a reputation to upkeep. As Kitagawa Sayuri was quite apt at housework, sewing included, she had quickly become unpaid help in the workshop on top of being a servant.

The childhood years were good; little Yusuke grew happy and coddled, hidden away from biting tongues and crude remarks of village folk who openly voiced opinions of his mother, raising him on her own at such a young age. Amidst the busy town, bursting with life and clutter, no one seemed to care. Yusuke was playing, helping and learning the trade from a very young age; he could recall long winter evenings when his mother sang to him quietly, making filigree and flimsy designs of block lace by the light of the candle. Yusuke was loved and he knew it. But every carefree dream comes to an end, someday. His mother died of tuberculosis when he was seven, and Yusuke was left all alone in this world. 

Master Madarame took him in; theoretically, his status was an apprentice, but once he became old enough, Yusuke was also running the household. He quickly learned how to clean, dress Madarame’s bed, carry the keys, cook and chop wood. He was working quite hard and not really eating much, so a coveted child turned into a sickly, frail youth. 

Goro had been living with his mother in the outskirts of the city, until she died too, in some mysterious circumstances no one wanted to speak about. Goro’s father, someone important, fixed him an apprenticeship at the best attorney office in town. Goro had served there, first as a page boy, then a copyist while attending school, to finally become a regular apprentice, also running minor errands for the lawyers of the firm.

...Yusuke’s hands were steady and precise. They moved with a sacred choreography of purpose, with a carefully honed skill Goro could never hope to grasp. Every measurement taken was scribbled down in neat, narrow handwriting on the parchment, in a systematic order of appearance. Goro forced himself to be still, keeping his arms spread for Yusuke; he followed every move with his hawk-like eyes. Yusuke touched the top of his shoulder gently, running the tape along the surprisingly muscled arm, through the slender forearm down to the wrist. He scribbled something down. Next, the inside of Goro’s wrist, where the veins stood out greenish and easily visible; Yusuke brushed his fingers ever so slightly over the vulnerable skin as he took a cuff length measurement. Goro shivered - the tailor was bound to have felt it - yet he did not react, keeping his eyes fixed on the job.

...They met a long time ago. Yusuke, clad in a working apron two sizes too big for him, was taking notes of the customer’s requests and fetching various tools and utensils. When not needed, he was just standing quietly in the corner and observing the process; this was Madarame’s preferred method of teaching, by showing, not exactly by explaining. If Yusuke failed to understand something, he had to read up on it or make enough mistakes to learn, which was costly not only fabric-wise - Madarame wouldn’t hesitate to beat him up for being wasteful or stupid. 

Goro observed all that from his seat next to the windowsill. He had come into the workshop with one of the older attorneys. Goro was a well-fed boy, full on the face, with a nice haircut; the soft brown locks framed his face mischievously. He was staring at the stick-like Yusuke, nibbling on a sweet bun and swinging his legs; Yusuke in turn was staring at the pastry in Goro’s hands and dreaming of eating it. Eating ten of those. 

Goro noticed that look. The next day he appeared outside of the tailor’s shop when Yusuke was carrying out the heavy tray full of ash from the fireplace. Goro offered him a sweet bun - exactly like the one he had yesterday, with raisins and almonds and the fragrant icing on top, white and thick like snow - but not for free. He wanted information on one of Madarame’s customers. 

Yusuke listened to their conversation the next time said man appeared in the workshop. He repeated everything diligently to Goro, got another sweet bun and a loaf or real buttermilk bread; Goro was happy with him. He was able to help the older lawyers wrangle some sort of documents from Madarame’s pompous customer and thus win the case. 

...Yusuke moved in to take Goro’s chest measurement, going carefully from his shoulder to the waistline, draping the tape almost lovingly in front of him. Long, slender fingers held the tape with the utmost care, precisely marking the required length. Once it was written down, the tailor had to stand closer to take a proper waist circumference; as he stepped in, Goro tilted his head up and their noses almost brushed. That finally elicited a reaction. Yusuke’s cheeks dusted with pink, but he still wrapped his arms around the other man and fit the tape snugly around his middle. Goro’s warm exhale worried the fluttering pulse point on Yusuke’s neck. 

Yusuke noted the desired size and turned around to get one of the paper patterns, carefully selected on the basis of his customer’s preference. He put it up to Goro’s chest, to judge the size of the lapels. He smoothed down the brown paper, accidentally brushing Goro’s nipple with his thumb. The attorney’s eyes turned dark; Yusuke jolted away, intimidated by the sheer hunger of his glare. 

...Goro kept coming to the shop to stare at Yusuke. They never talked; yet they communicated. 

Sometimes Goro would leave some baked treats for him at the windowsill of his subterranean bedroom; sometimes it would be Yusuke who made a little keepsake, like a handkerchief, and put it wordlessly next to Goro’s seat as he was passing by. As seasons turned, Goro started to make money on his own in the chancellery. He was soon able to order small things to complete his wardrobe, but Madarame never let Yusuke take measurements for the important customers, so the boys never had a chance to touch. Even if no one explicitly addressed it, they longed to do so.

When he turned sixteen, Goro began to leave the county to collect the signatures and money for the older attorneys. In preparation for a journey like that - and to the Capital City nonetheless! - he came in to buy a ready-made coat from the window display. It was a decent, well-structured garment, made of warm checkered wool, which would keep him warm and dry in the damp November weather. After completing the purchase and exchanging usual courtesies with Madarame, he noticed Yusuke, who exited the workshop on unsteady feet. 

Yusuke’s eyes were reddened and he was hobbling when moving. Once Master Tailor wasn’t looking, busy with his other customers, Goro followed Yusuke outside to the back of the atelier. He pulled at his arm, pressing him roughly to the wall; he meant to ask what happened, but Yusuke’s tear-streaked face told him everything he needed to know at a glance.

The first touch they shared was abrupt. Hungry. Painful, and way too invasive. But Yusuke was used to being treated like that, so he didn’t even flinch, completely overpowered by the thrill of the unknown. Goro’s hold was forceful at first, yet it wilted into compassionate support as soon as Yusuke stumbled. Yusuke found that he can _lean on_ the strong frame, that he wouldn’t be pushed away. They both froze in silence. 

A black leather glove, fitted elegantly around the attorney’s palm, caught Yusuke’s attention. Such a clear symbol of a difference in status! The expensive, soft kidskin separated them with a barrier of aloof formality. This respectable bachelor, dressed up in layers upon layers of prim attire, covering him modestly from head to toe, stood right in front of him, holding him up so he wouldn’t fall. 

Goro flexed his fingers. He could not feel the warmth of Yusuke’s flesh through the leather. Yusuke shuddered in the rags he was clad in; his still too big apron was wrapped around his hips like a blanket. He looked more like a scullion than an apprentice, in his patchy, mended shirt, lacking even a simple vest. Goro almost couldn’t bring himself to speak first. Words got stuck in his throat because to finally feel his hand close on Yusuke’s arm - to feel his muscles shift and the skinny limb tense in his grip - was completely intoxicating. It felt like breaking a taboo. Was the tailor afraid? Apprehensive? Cautious not to offend? Why wouldn’t he look at him?

Goro had always been surrounded by loud, contentious males. The other attorneys were laughing brusquely, drinking too much whiskey, boldly stating uneducated opinions. Fattened on their lucrative occupation, they were completely severed from any sense of morality or goodness. Yusuke was… completely different. He was delicate. He smelled nice, he kept clean and tidy. He was quiet. There was intelligence in his eyes and books on his windowsill.

“...Did he do that to you?” Goro choked out eventually.

Yusuke’s eyelids fluttered in surprise. “Y-yes,” he whispered. A regal frown creased the attorney’s brow. 

“Show me.”

Yusuke bent down to roll up his pant leg to reveal a swollen ankle wrapped up in some pitiful strips of cotton. It wouldn’t pass as a bandage, and the injury wasn’t stiffened at all. Goro shook his head; he thrust an envelope full of money into Yusuke’s hand and ordered him to go see the doctor on Upper Street that same evening. 

“I will check if you’ve been there; do not fail to do this,” Goro told him, letting go of his arm. Yusuke stared for a long while, even after the attorney disappeared behind the corner. 

After that, only a couple of days later, Yusuke found a letter among Madarame’s post - a letter addressed _to Yusuke_. It was from Goro, delivered from the capital. A short description of the old town and the town’s Bailey, as well as a clipped weather report was... stiff and almost rude in its tone, but the letter contained a couple of newest leaflets from the main fashion houses and some newspaper clippings that could be of interest to Yusuke. The boy read them all dutifully. He kept that information to himself, to be able to use it once a new customer arrives at the workshop. Yusuke realized with quiet appreciation that Goro was trying to help.

...Yusuke proceeded to take the length of the leg. He knelt in front of his patron; it wasn’t an ungraceful squat Goro had seen in other craftsmen. It was elegant. A distinct, dignified kneel. Goro’s breath quickened in appreciation. He loved that part. The eyes of the tailor were just at the level of his crotch. It would be so easy for Goro to slam his loins onto this beautiful face, grab him by the hair and have him mouth at his rapidly filling length through the fabric, until Goro was fully hard and ready to act. He did no such thing, though; a quick, compulsive flex of his fingers was the only gesture betraying how tightly wound up he was. 

Yusuke seemed to slow down even more, his hands shaking slightly as he touched the top of Goro’s shoe with the measuring tape. The fabric was supposed to fold once over the top of the foot. When he got that right - his beautiful, pale fingers lingering on the upper sole of the shoe for longer than necessary - Yusuke asked Goro to spread his legs a bit more, to be able to continue with the inseam. Goro separated his legs, smirking, while Yusuke kept his head low. His eyes were trained on the floor, the tips of his ears aflame. 

...More letters came. 

Yusuke realized somewhat belatedly that Goro had been in no better position than him at the beginning, and yet somehow he managed to carve out a decent life for himself. The thing was, apart from the unquestionable hard work and effort he exhibited, he climbed the social ladder by using cunning tricks and dirty moves. He was not hesitant to blackmail or cheat, withhold the truth or manipulate evidence. He got private and sensitive information by means of threats. He was a very successful attorney, protecting his customers, but destroying the competition without mercy; a formidable foe indeed. People were saying all kinds of things about him, and Yusuke listened.

Despite the fearsome respect that the attorney awoke in him, despite his ill reputation, Yusuke could not stop himself from starting to reply to the correspondence. 

When he was given an address, that indicated that Goro was expecting an answer. There usually was money in the envelope to be able to post the letter, sometimes more than enough, so Yusuke could buy himself dinner. When there was no address, that meant Goro would be back soon. There were more snippets of information and useful fashion plates in the letters, but also dried plants - herbs or flowers, little mementos or scraps of fabric, anything that turned Goro’s attention and was easy to mail. Yusuke found himself sketching little scenes on the basis of the descriptions, drawing landscapes, city views or clothes designs, presenting the drawings to Goro upon his return. In the scarce occasions they bumped into each other in town, they talked about Goro’s experiences of the outside world - always briefly, always courtly, never enough to raise suspicion that their acquaintance is anything more than just mere politeness. 

Never enough to actually satisfy the ache they felt, to which they could match no name. 

Madarame’s health was getting worse, and Yusuke took over the shop gradually. Goro suggested more than once that Yusuke should get rid of Madarame and claim the workshop altogether; the tentative implication was that he would defend him. Yet Yusuke was too mellow to ever attempt that. Patient in his suffering, too used to his position to rebel against it. Goro thought less of him for that, passing over the black eyes and split lips with silence, but Yusuke preferred to leave things as they were. 

The especially severe winter of 1846, when both Akechi and Yusuke turned twenty, marked a starting point of a long period of silence. Yusuke did not receive any letters nor visits, and he was heartbroken over it. Sick with worry that something bad had happened to Goro, he counted the days since his last terse message; lonely and apathetic, he was going through the letters one by one, replaying their unusual friendship in his mind over and over again, searching for a clue, a misspoken word, a mistake in phrase or intent that would finally pin the blame on him and explain why had Goro scorned him.

Madarame died that year. Yusuke became a Master Craftsman himself, changed the sign over the door and spent his days completely absorbed in sewing bespoke coats and frocks. He covered the perfectly cut inner pieces with rows of tiny pad stitching, moulding the patterns to shape; he embroidered cyclamens and marigolds on the edges of the waistcoats. At night, looking at the heavy fog of the town illuminated by the gas lamps, he tried to imagine a well-known silhouette strolling down the street to knock at the door of his workshop. Did Goro die...? Did he not care? Did he move on? 

Would he even take notice that Yusuke had finally broken free…?

Finally, one terrifying, stormy night, Goro did return. 

He looked vastly different. He was more mature, hardened around the edges, several shades darker than he used to be. Yusuke saw him enter the workshop and bring the smell of wind inside, his long overcoat dripping with rain, hair dishevelled and wild; Yusuke looked at him and wondered _what Goro had done_. 

...Yusuke stood up swiftly and went once more through the list of the measurements. He seemed to be satisfied; he nodded to himself and grabbed the tape again to take the last one - the size of the collar. He kept it for last because this was a rare moment when he could freely look into Goro’s eyes. 

He had such a luscious gaze. Deeply warm, chestnut brown, sometimes garnet in the light of the fireplace. A fan of long lashes framed the most beautiful eyes Yusuke had ever seen. He did not believe eyes like this could belong to a sinner. 

As the soft leather tape wrapped around Akechi’s neck and Yusuke’s fingers brushed his skin, the attorney snapped. He snatched the tool from Yusuke’s hands and surged forward to slam their lips together; Yusuke moaned into the kiss needily, feeling Akechi’s hands clawing at his back, sneaking under his waistcoat, grabbing the fabric of his shirt in two greedy fistfuls. 

Yusuke allowed himself to be manhandled out of the room, into the workshop space at the back. Akechi pushed him on the cutting table, paper patterns, pins and chalk be damned. He latched on the simple black vest Yusuke wore, practically ripping it open, and freed his thin limbs from the confinement of his shirt; every inch of bare skin was covered in wet, sloppy kisses. Goro was roughing Yusuke up, scratching a reddish, crisscrossing net on his sides, and Yusuke did not even think of shying away - the intensity of it was like a flood on his senses. Breaking all dams, all carefully constructed barriers, welcome and overwhelming. Yusuke could go days on end without being touched by anybody, but _now_ , with _Akechi_ , no amount of closeness was enough. 

Finally naked, Yusuke was pulled off the table and turned around unceremoniously. Akechi grabbed both his wrists and bound them tight with the measuring tape. Yusuke gasped as his chest was slammed on the cutting table; he shivered in the cold air of the workshop as Goro slid his hands down his body, pushed a knee between his legs, fondled and groped his privates. 

...Yusuke’s mind short-circuited to the first time they embraced, the first deliberate, meaningful touch they allowed themselves to give. It was just after Goro showed up, that dark, rain-soaked heathen, in the middle of the storm. The first thing he noticed was Madarame’s absence, and he immediately asked where the old man was. Yusuke didn’t grace him with a reply, asking in turn where Goro had been.

“I had to take care of my... past commitments,” he said, “so that I could finally live free, in the way I have been working so hard to achieve. Why, were you worried about me?” Goro scoffed, shaking the rain off the brim of his hat.

Yusuke swallowed past a quickly rising lump in his throat. “Of course I was worried.” 

“...And?”

“And I was angry. I thought you have rejected me. Then I got mad at myself for misinterpreting… whatever that was. And I came back to being worried sick, because something had clearly happened to you and there I was, only thinking about how unfair it all was to me.”

Goro sighed heavily, staring at the floor. For the first time in his life, Yusuke saw him uncertain. 

“I apologize for not sending a message… It was absolutely crucial, though, that no one knew my whereabouts. I hope you can forgive me.” Akechi took a hesitant step forward, but stopped, seeing Yusuke’s expression. “Believe me, taking care of this… thing was necessary so that I could live the life I want; and part of this life is to remain a patron to you.”

Yusuke felt acid burn in his chest. He recognized the loathsome sensation as something he only rarely ever felt, in the darkest nights, when he kept thinking of all the hurt and injustice he had to suffer at the hands of his Master, crying helplessly into the pillow. 

“ _I don’t care_ about your patronage. I have been managing without it.” He spat, wanting to turn on his heel and leave.

“Oh? What do you care about, then?” Goro asked. 

A trembling second passed, a heartbeat faltered; then the grains in hourglass stopped mid-air.

“...You.”

Goro rushed towards him. He smothered Yusuke in the wet embrace, the rainwater soaking the linen shirt through, the wandering mouth aiming for Yusuke’s in a starved, frenzied search.

...Goro spread his palms flat on the slight slope of Yusuke’s buttocks, admiring the skin, white as milk and meant for his touch only. He noticed a silver pinwheel glinting on the edge of the table; Yusuke must have used it earlier to trace a pattern. He grabbed it, thinking little of it, and put it to Yusuke’s arm; the tailor gasped at the pinpricks, looked over the shoulder to see what Akechi was doing. 

Goro grabbed his hair with a bare, un-gloved hand. “Stay still,” he hissed. 

He traced the pinwheel in between Yusuke’s taut shoulder blades, along his arms, around his neck, down his buttocks. The small noises of pleasure made Goro feel too hot for clothes, and even if he had discarded his silk cravatte a while ago, he found it harder and harder to breathe. He turned Yusuke around and covered his nude body with his own to steal a kiss; Yusuke opened for him eagerly. 

Goro brought the pinwheel down to Yusuke’s chest. The tailor bit on his bottom lip as the dainty teeth rolled down a sensitive bud of a nipple; Goro licked the place afterwards as if he wanted to make it better. The tool rolled down through the soft plane of his stomach, to the inside of his thighs, upon which Yusuke started to squirm.

“Spread them,” Goro ordered, and Yusuke obediently brought his knees up, supporting his heels on the edge of the table. Goro hummed in appreciation.

Yusuke knew that should Goro only want it, he would give in and beg for his touch. The man could make him do anything. It didn’t feel humiliating, no matter how debauched their nights were; quite the contrary. It felt like liberation. He wanted it all, Goro’s hands in his hair, Goro’s breath in his ear, Goro’s body joining with his own; he started whining, a high-pitched, embarrassing sound that cut through the space of the sewing room like a whip. Goro was on top of him in an instant. 

“Do you want me? Do you want this?” He asked, mouthing along his collarbone. Yusuke nodded frantically, banging his head on the surface of his working space, thickly padded with felt. Goro showed his teeth in a smile. 

“In a second,” he whispered, moving away from him with a quick parting kiss. Yusuke whimpered, confused and unhappy about the sudden chill that settled on him in the absence of the warm body of his lover; Goro was just a couple of steps away, though. He reached for a couple of clothespins from the string where Yusuke had been drying the pre-washed fabrics. 

“I’m gonna have you scream my name,” Akechi whispered, lying on top of him again. His able fingers clamped the first pin on one of his nipples, and Yusuke howled, writhing underneath him and shutting his eyes against the pain. “Endure it,” Goro warned, pinning him down. “You’re mine, all of you. All of this.” 

The pain receded quickly, and the sting of the other clamp was a bit lesser; Yusuke’s chest heaved as he took it all, his lips unconsciously falling into the well-known litany of his lover’s name, repeated over and over again. His mind was becoming blank, mercifully freed of fear and obligation, separated from the sense of time. When Yusuke felt oiled fingers probe at his entrance, he arched into the touch, anticipating the breach with every single thread of his being. 

...Their first time had been alike, and yet nothing like this. So clumsy. So awkward, so inept as they tried to fit together in the soft darkness of Yusuke’s cold alcove. They were working completely on gut feeling and experimentation; Yusuke was full of dread that Akechi wouldn’t bother coming back after this uncomfortable liaison, taking place on the hard planks of his uncomfortable cot. 

He had laid down then, offered himself, because wasn’t it what he would always do? And as Goro laid his hands on him, for the first time without the boundary of clothing, Yusuke thought he would lose his mind to insanity. He had always been so fond of clothes; these were kind items of everyday use, covering the bruises, providing warmth and comfort, hugging his lithe body in the absence of human kindness. Without them, he felt helpless. It was all too much, the softest touch was too much, and yet more was coming - so Yusuke was just giving, giving, giving. Akechi took it all, greedily, hungrily, and it was painful, almost, and Yusuke wished for a second it would stop because he was not ready for it to become any more overwhelming than it was - but then Akechi felt it, felt his tremors and his fear and saw him shutting down, and he started to give. And as he shared, as he unravelled, Yusuke started to feel good and floaty, even though the pain was still there, looming at the edges of his mind like a blade of a sickle. Yet there was also ecstasy hidden in the forbidden place of his body, ecstasy that Akechi brought forward and released, time and again, until Yusuke could not remember his own name or the name of the street where his workshop was, or indeed the name of the town they were in. He was no one, without a name, without a purpose, without a master; and as he came back down to his mortal body, he saw the eyes of his owner above him, the only one who would lift him up and let him soar without any shame or cost, and he happily said his name aloud, giving himself up into fealty. 

...Akechi did come back.

Yusuke lolled his head on the table, wanting more, more, more of everything, even if it was hurt. He wanted to feel it tenfold on his skin. He wanted the touch to linger, settle deep into his bones so that he could feel it forever. As Goro kept preparing him, scissoring the fingers inside him, Yusuke's mind shut down completely, unable to tell the difference between the nightly visitor claiming him back then and an evening guest coming to take what was his right now. 

Akechi deemed Yusuke prepared enough and lined himself up promptly. He entered with a harsh jerk of his hips, resting his body weight on the shoulders of his partner. At a pleading moan, he surged up to gather Yusuke in his arms. They made love greedily, in fast, abortive jerks, both of them chasing their release in impatience; the embrace broke, becoming too uncomfortable to keep. Yet it wasn’t important, because they were both there. Joined together, merged into one. Giving, and _living_ , and risking it all. 

When it was almost over, just one thrust away from completion, Akechi leaned in and grabbed one of the clothespins with his teeth. He bit down on the wood; he had to stuff his fingers into Yusuke’s mouth as he screamed his orgasm out. Goro followed soon after, milked dry by the walls of Yusuke’s passage clenching around him. 

They stayed still, passing rapid breaths from one mouth to another, cooling down. Goro’s hand came up to the tailor’s head to stroke down the navy strands, in a shaky, slow pattern that refused to cease. Yusuke’s lips kissed the cheek above him, planting soft little pecks full of devotion.

Finally, Goro recovered. He propped himself up on one elbow, hovering next to Yusuke. The tailor gave him the softest lick on the pale column of his throat, and Goro blinked slowly, still in hazy pleasure, but refused to look at him. Yusuke hesitated.

“What’s wrong…?” He asked quietly. 

“It’s no longer safe here for you, Yusuke.” Akechi sighed, his lips pressed tight. 

He moved to pet Yusuke’s face and take a good look at him; his poor, bound lover, still impaled, with his abdomen smeared with a sticky white of his release. Beautiful, despite being ravaged so. Something precious. Something fragile, the only person in the world Goro wished to protect. “I heard of another arrest. Just a couple of streets away from here. I’m afraid this town is no longer safe.” 

Yusuke licked his lips nervously. “What am I supposed to do?” he asked. Goro’s knuckles trembled next to his temple. 

“...Whereas I know of many men who are perfectly able to continue any lifestyle they want, buying their freedom with money, votes and favours, no one will think twice about sentencing a mere tailor. I cannot allow that to happen.” Akechi pressed his forehead to Yusuke’s chest.

“Tell me what I should do, and I will.”

“I had a dream last night,” Akechi continued, “That they drag you out of this house in your nightclothes, and you’re sick and feeble, unable to defend yourself. This cannot happen. I will not let it happen,” Akechi said. “We’re leaving, Yusuke. I’m taking you abroad. In two days, at dawn. You will pack only the necessary…”

“Two days!?” Yusuke gasped. “But… abroad? Am I supposed to leave the workshop?!”

“ _Yes_. We’re leaving.” Akechi’s teeth grit as he hissed the words. 

“But I don’t know the language, nor do I know the first thing about foreign fashion, how will I…”

“You will learn,” Akechi said irritably. “You will do just fine.”  
  
“But I can’t afford it, Goro, how will I ever…”

“What did I say?! We’re leaving!” Akechi growled, accentuating his point with a sharp roll of his hips, making Yusuke yelp. “I will pay for your travel and set up a workshop for you, and you will go back to your routine soon enough, you’ll see. Your skills speak for themselves, you'll find loyal customers everywhere. Don’t worry about the cost.”

“And I’m supposed to pay you back… how exactly?” Yusuke frowned.

Goro braced himself before answering; he read from Yusuke’s face that a lot depends on the answer he’d give. 

“By staying by my side, where is your place,” he said. “With your obedience, and the sharpness of your mind, and your sweet, sweet company. I don’t care about your money.”

Yusuke stared at him in shock. 

“...What do you care about, then?” He uttered, despite knowing the answer.

“You.”

They leaned in for a kiss. Yusuke's legs wrapped tightly around Goro’s waist, keeping him in place; Akechi felt himself slowly hardening again and he started to rock into his lover, though gently this time.

Yusuke moaned, throwing his head back in abandon. His yielding body was welcoming the thrusts, and Goro nibbled lazily on his neck. The touch was delicate, careful so as not to leave any marks, which would be difficult to explain. Goro held Yusuke close for a moment, allowing him to feel the prominent thump of his heartbeat. It was steady and sure, determined like its owner, and the protective hold of Akechi’s arms offered solutions, not promises. Yusuke thought that... maybe it wouldn't be so bad to belong to Goro, after all. 

He took good care of his possessions.

Goro wrapped an arm around Yusuke’s waist tightly. “Careful now,” he warned and hoisted himself up; he lifted Yusuke by his buttocks and carried him a couple of steps away, to a low, wooden stool. Yusuke’s breath escaped with a broken ‘aah’ as he felt his body sink onto Goro’s lap; the pressure of Yusuke’s own weight made him take his lover in even deeper than before. 

Yusuke knew the drill. Even if his hands were still bound and he had barely any leverage, he started to bounce, working for Goro’s pleasure; he speared himself with commitment, feeling the blood rush to his head and the pleasure bloom red underneath his eyelids. He became free, letting himself move at the sound of another's orders, letting his mind forget all fears, worries and pain. 

He knew this would happen one more time this night, regardless of Goro coming or not; once finally satiated, he would help him wash up, allow Yusuke to close up the shop properly, then share a single glass of green fairy. There would be no sleep that night. Not when Goro could enjoy his lover once again, in bed, or make him put his lovely mouth to good use. 

Not even the stars would be the witness. No one would dare to walk the streets at this hour. The neverending, dense fog, permeating the pavements and back alleys of the town, was as much a silent friend as it was a silent killer. 

**~*~**

The sun flooded the spacious workshop in golden, diagonal rays, as the slim, blue-haired tailor sat hunched over a sewing machine. The pleasant clatter of the treadle mechanism marked the passage of time; the man kept working, smiling at his project, which happened to turn out exactly as he planned. 

The workshop was messy, but there seemed to be a method here at work, because the man would reach out to get his tools with ease, knowing their exact placements and not wasting any time. Several started garments were pinned on dress forms, one burgundy frock, one black morning coat fit for a groom and a couple of smaller orders - billowy shirts, domestic aprons, simple shifts, lacey combinations. The dress forms stood on display against the tall, floor-to-ceiling windows, which were leading into the greenhouse at the back. 

The air was fragrant. It was impossible to escape this light, green scent, the smell of herbs, melliferous plants and flowers sneaking into the place even through the glass door. There were delicate, blue petals of flax scattered here and there; apparently, the tailor was in the process of growing the azure fibre crop for the production of linen. 

A quiet click of the lock was heard as another man walked in; his hair was mousey, gathered into an unruly ponytail at the nape. 

“Master Yusuke. I find myself in need of a tailored suit,” the man spoke. 

The tailor looked up from his work, his slim foot stopping in the middle of the tap against the pedal. He smiled, promptly put the garment away and stood up to greet his customer. 

“Of course, Sir. As you wish,” he said, and his bright, silver eyes illuminated the place even more, as they stood face to face and leaned into a loose embrace.


End file.
